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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25194055">Typewriter</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheYesterdayShow/pseuds/TheYesterdayShow'>TheYesterdayShow</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Original Short Stories [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Drabble, F/M, Horror, Hysteria, I wrote this in one of those write-in questions on a uquiz, Insanity, Inspired by The Yellow Wallpaper, It happens, Old-Fashioned, POV First Person, Psychological Horror, Short Story, it be like that sometimes, just a bit longer, mary was the only old-fashioned name I could think of at the time, so it might change, so you decide to kill it, ya know sometimes the little things just scare you</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 09:03:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>628</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25194055</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheYesterdayShow/pseuds/TheYesterdayShow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The typewriter clacks, every night at 9 in the evening. It belongs to Hadley, and he arrives home from work at 10:02pm exactly, sometimes 10:05pm if the road is busy. There's nobody else in the house. Yet the typewriter clacks.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mary/Hadley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Original Short Stories [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1825111</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Typewriter</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The typewriter clacks, every night at 9 in the evening. It belongs to Hadley, and he arrives home from work at 10:02pm exactly, sometimes 10:05pm if the road is busy. There's nobody else in the house. Yet the typewriter clacks.</p><p>Hadley doesn't believe me when I tell him that there's an intruder. He laughs and says, "Darling, why would someone break into our house just to use my typewriter?" He'd know, though, were he home. The typing only stops when he gets home. I'm not brave enough to look myself, it's a man's job to keep his wife safe from harm, and harm includes burglars—which must be what the intruder is. But he thinks it's silly, so I try to ignore it.</p><p>The more I try to not let it affect me, it does. I'm always watching it, concerned that the intruder will realize that Hadley is out for most of the day. Nothing, but I am frightened. I lock the bedroom door that night and don't let Hadley in until I'm certain I can't hear the clacking from behind him. Hadley is concerned the next morning, saying things about calling Doctor Jacobs. I can't let him call. Instead, I laugh and wave it off, telling him it was a brief bout of paranoia, and that he needn't worry. I know that I must push my fears away, and confront the intruder.</p><p>So I sit, on the couch, looking directly at the typewriter, resolved to not move an inch until I have proof of the intruder. I wait and wait; I ignore the watering of my eyes. Thank heavens Hadley isn't here to see me, he'd think I'm quite mad! Staring at an inanimate object, waiting for animation! Then 9 o'clock comes, and I go quite still with anticipation. Of course, I'm not out of my mind! A shadowy creature, a man perhaps, is in the chair! I haven't the faintest clue of when it arrived; I must have drifted off at some point. <em>Clack-clack-clack</em>, he types, echoing through the house, and I know I have him. He doesn't turn when I stand, nor when I approach, the fear that had been coursing through me only moments ago replaced with a great eagerness, an eagerness that does not vanish when my forceful hand passes right through him. <em>Clack-clack-clack</em>, it continues, as if nothing had happened. <em>Clack-clack-clack</em>. That infernal clacking! I must rid the shadow man of his grail, then maybe I can catch him. Or perhaps, free him? Could he be some poor soul, alike to sad Molly Baker down the street, driven mad with attachment to an object that he cannot rid himself from? I must free him, and with that decision, I tear the first key from the typewriter. It detaches with a quiet <em>thik!</em> and the shadow man is still here, clickety-clacking away. He must be freed, and I pull another. My nail chips with it, I'm certain, but I must save him! Another and another and another, pulling and pulling as the <em>clack-clack-clack</em> does not stop!</p><p>"Mary! What are you doing?"</p><p>I must look rather wild, but I cannot leave the shadow man and his clack-clack-clack! Hadley grips me from behind, but I will not let go. There are only five keys left.</p><p>"Mary, please! Mary, what's gotten into you?!" I snarl at Hadley—he won't stop me! Two keys left—one key left—none. The clacking halts, finally. I let Hadley pull me away. He fusses over me, petting my hair and laying his hand on my forehead, but I cannot look at him. The shadow man holds my gaze, as he finally turns to face me. A smile built entirely of keys is the only feature of his face.</p><p> </p>
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